Chapter 13
A MIND DISTRESSED
Instead of returning to the house, Darcy went to the stables. Heedless of the rain, he cantered across the fells on the back of his stallion, trying to outrace his passion. It only partially worked.
Gallant did not mind it at all—he had been chafing for some real exercise. But during a significant cloudburst, as he took shelter under cover of trees at the park’s forested edge, Darcy could acknowledge that only the symptoms of immediate desire had been mitigated. The fire still smouldered.
If only he could remove the image of her from his brain!
He was well accustomed to restraining his baser self, but this attraction was not purely sexual.
There was something about her that incited more than simple desire.
He wanted to know her, to know her thoughts and why she thought them.
Curiosity? Perhaps. Why, for instance, did she so zealously guard the sister who withheld Longbourn from her?
Family loyalty, he supposed—and understandable to some extent.
After all, was he not devoted to his sister?
She remained with their aunt at Matlock in the present, because she was so angry with him.
Still, he had every hope that she would see the truth of her situation, once she matured a bit more.
Gossip insisted that Elizabeth had refused Longbourn, not the other way around.
How could Mrs Collins—older and wiser than Georgiana, it was to be hoped—refuse to house her sister?
It made no sense; however, did it make sense for Elizabeth to live alone in what amounted to a hovel, when she plainly had expected to live elsewhere?
Or to care so lovingly for the sister who had denied her?
Well, he would discover what he could, and find a way to help—perhaps even have a conversation with Mrs Collins, to learn how he might.
Wickham, whose spiteful machinations led to Georgiana’s humiliation, had fuelled rage, but it seemed the anger Darcy had felt towards his now-deceased former friend was the closest thing to depths of emotions he had experienced since his father’s death.
He had been coasting along the surface of life—staying busy, throwing himself into Pemberley’s needs, and occasionally, such as he was now at Netherfield, lending his expertise to friends.
These activities filled his hours, yet also allowed him to avoid a goodly amount of human interaction.
Especially since the conflict between himself and his sister, he had been very…
solitary of late, and Elizabeth’s situation had touched a chord of pity within.
Simple Christian compassion. Any decent, honourable man would feel the same.
Resolutely, he remounted Gallant, forcibly attempting to turn his mind away from her problems. Still, he rode as if chased by the denizens of the Hawk and Swan in all their drunken fury, and yet could not forget the feel of her within his arms.
That evening at dinner, Mrs Collins remained upstairs. Apparently, some—if not all—of her illness was lingering, and Mr Jones had commanded that she remain abed. Elizabeth, Darcy saw, avoided his gaze.
She returned upstairs after dinner, but re-emerged later, as he attempted, once again, to finish his letter to Georgiana with Miss Bingley interrupting like a giant gnat, buzzing about his head.
She was a pathetic mixture of jealousy and overindulged resentment, having too much money and not enough purpose.
Naturally, she was anxious to compensate for angering him earlier, even though he had been angry most of all with himself for encouraging her to mock Elizabeth. Why had he done it?
Cease thinking of her! he ordered his brain.
Yet he could not help but notice Elizabeth and Bingley striking up a conversation on the other side of the drawing room, or that Bingley participated in it with what seemed unusual enthusiasm.
Not that there was aught else to do, since Hurst snored on the sofa whilst Mrs Hurst seemed preoccupied with her bracelets and occasionally, half-heartedly, repeating her sister’s compliments towards Georgiana.
“Georgiana is so fortunate, that you should write letters of such length,” Miss Bingley remarked.
“Sometimes so long that they are never completed enough to actually send,” he replied wryly, trying fruitlessly to overhear what Elizabeth was saying.
“But think of the joy she must receive at such an obvious demonstration of devotion!” she prattled on, oozing admiration.
He held onto his patience, reminding himself that he had spoken rudely to her earlier.
Still, it was a near thing, and he bit down on a more sarcastic reply.
What is Bingley telling Elizabeth that she finds so captivating?
It was obvious that whatever the topic, Bingley was very enamoured of it, which was not particularly noteworthy; Bingley had several enthusiasms. Nonetheless, Elizabeth seemed riveted as well.
Probably, they were discussing Mrs Collins—perhaps childhood anecdotes.
Bingley’s obsession with the woman was unfortunate, and she could not recover soon enough to suit him!
When she did, however, Elizabeth would leave as well. The thought was disturbing, and he had to fight to keep his expression amiable.
Mrs Hurst’s words interrupted his thoughts. “It would not be a terrible match. Her birth is quite good, and I hear that her husband was the local magistrate for many years. While she has her detractors, just as many claim her to be very respectable.”
He swiftly turned his head towards her. What match? Whose birth? What magistrate? He almost phrased the questions aloud, until he saw the direction of Mrs Hurst’s gaze.
“What?” he asked stupidly, staring at her blankly. She could not be referring to Elizabeth and Bingley.
“That seems…somewhat improbable, Sister,” Miss Bingley added uneasily, although she wore a conciliatory smile; it was obvious she was trying to be very careful about anything to do with Elizabeth, and would not outright declare it to be a preposterous idea.
He almost wished she would.
“She must have some sort of settlement, one would think,” Mrs Hurst continued, “despite the rumours. I was speaking with Mrs Palmer the other day, who claims Mrs Ashwood has been much maligned for no good reason. A vicar’s wife should know what is truth and what is not, one would think.
” She seemed oblivious to her sister’s increasing and plain irritation at her chosen topic.
He glanced back at Bingley, gesturing, gesticulating, all happy enthusiasm. Elizabeth laughed at something he said. Laughed, when she had barely glanced at him for hours.
In watching Bingley and Elizabeth so obviously enjoying each other’s company, Mrs Hurst had drawn a conclusion he despised.
Yet he could not disagree with her without appearing to disparage Elizabeth!
To his shame, he had already encouraged Miss Bingley’s sarcasm.
He certainly would not explain his own attraction, which was beside the point, regardless.
Bingley was too young to settle—as evidenced by his fascination with Mrs Collins only a day earlier. Surely he was not drawn to Elizabeth, who—to his way of thinking—must be the stellar opposite of her sister. But what could he say?
“Hm, well Mrs Ashwood certainly deserves a younger husband, this go-round,” he remarked with a careful casualness. “I do wonder at Bingley’s preparedness for any such commitment as marriage, at his age.”
“Oh, he is a dreadful flibbertigibbet,” Miss Bingley agreed eagerly. “Much too young, I agree.”
“Of course, someone of Mrs Ashwood’s maturity and character would be quite good for him,” he felt obligated to add, protests lodging in his gut with every syllable.
And had Bingley just moved nearer to her on the settee? Yes, he had! Why did she not move away? How could she find his inanities amusing? Were his eyes fixed upon her mouth, upon that wide, enchanting smile?
“One cannot seriously discuss our brother’s marriage to a—” Miss Bingley began, but revised her words at his sudden angry expression—obviously believing it was for her. “What I mean is, our brother is not ready for marriage yet, not to anyone.”
Her sister’s lips firmed. “He might, however, be ready to make a fool of himself over a married woman. Better that he should fix his interest on someone more appropriate rather than ruin us all before the neighbourhood.”
Darcy, Miss Bingley, and Mrs Hurst all stared at the couple laughing together on the settee. No one had anything else to say.